The sun illuminates the brush ever so perfectly.
The air is quietly filled with birds songs, wind powered streams and canine conversations.
If you listen close enough you can hear the bass line of summer on a nearby basketball court.
For this moment, the dry brown spots are a luscious green
and bare limbs are laden with fruit.
Like an enamored lover, the wind, the wind kisses my neck gently
while stroking my hair sweetly.
And for this moment, the piercing sirens are but mezzo sopranos
performing urban opera and trees give a standing ovation.
The painting in the sky is a perfect blue
decorated with wisps of white and multi-room birdhouses.
All is serene. Even insects refrain from their pest-imistic ways.
They lie still sipping on placidness and humming the song of the blue jay.
For this moment, the war cry of the locust
did not mean the end of the world
and the sun was possessed Hell’s fury.
It is quiet.
I can’t hear my heart clanging against my rib cage.
There are no mini wind storms in my nostrils,
and the race cars are not crashing against my cranium.
For this moment, all is well.
For this moment, perfection is tangible.
For this moment, I close my eyes and I am not afraid.